Makes Me Believe It
by Yuval25
Summary: After his lover's death, Harry resolves to taking desperate measures to preserve the illusion of his beloved's existence. Written for the Book-Quote Boot Camp Challenge! Warnings inside. One-shot. Please R&R!


_Hello everyone! This was written for a challenge: Boot-Quotes Boot Camp Challenge! I chose a quote from Hunger Games, quote number 5, and wrote this. It's darker than I'm used to writing, but I think I did well. Some of the details might be wrong, but I can't be precise because I haven't actually had any experience or anything. This is purely research material, and stuff I know from the news and stories._

_Please be kind with your reviews, though I welcome criticism and constructive ones!_

_I disclaim my rights to the Harry Potter books, and the research done for this story was purely theoretical._

_WARNING: Contains mentions of prostitution and sexual situations._

**Makes Me Believe It**

_This perplexing, good natured boy who can spin out lies so convincingly to be hopelessly in love with me ...  
__and I admit it there are moments when he makes me believe it myself._ – The Hunger Games.

"Mmm, that's nice," Harry mumbled, heavy-lidded as the blond man pressing him into the stone wall started softly kissing his neck, fondling his crotch and giving it small squeezes. The cold air of the street seemed too hot for Harry suddenly, and he rested his head against the cool stone behind him, relief coursing through him as he breathed deeply.

The man moving against him stopped briefly, gathered his breath and kept trailing kisses down his throat and along his cloak-clad shoulder, stopping when he reached the end.

"Five hundred pounds more, if you want… all of me," drawled the man seductively, his voice cracking the illusion for a few seconds before he continued to kiss Harry's common sense away.

"Mmm..." Harry moaned, his palms flat against the stone behind him, biting his lip to restrain the longing hands from clutching the silver-blond hair in his reach.

"Five hundred for the night," repeated the man in a quiet whisper, and Harry's resolve shattered.

"Okay," he said distractedly, feeling a strong hand on his waist.

The short walk from the shadowed alley to the cheap motel left Harry with a fresh resolve, and a _'What the hell am I doing?'_ echoing in his head. It wasn't enough to clear lustrous thoughts and slow the quick, eager pants coming from his lips, though. Soon, Harry was gently pushed onto a bed with a worn-looking mattress with stains Harry preferred not to think about. The room was dirty and the walls had mold in some of the corners, giving the room a strange smell that Harry chose ignored.

"Top or bottom?" asked the man, again destroying Harry's happy-place with his voice which was just plain _wrong_.

Harry sighed. "Top," he answered, and after a thought adding, "Could you not speak, please? You can whisper. Just don't…"

Harry's concentration was cut in half when the man bowed down and pressed his lips to the shell of Harry's ear. "No problem," he whispered, taking the lobe into his mouth and sucking on it, making Harry release a pleasured breath.

"Thanks," he said, feeling the bizarre need to apologize, and quickly brushing it away with the thought that since he was going to have sex with a whore, apologizing was kind of hypocritical of him. He was better off not thinking, he decided. _Just enjoy_, he thought forcibly, _it's supposed to be fun, so just relax._ So why did he have the feeling he was betraying someone's trust by taking this man, who looked frighteningly like somebody he used to know.

The man backed away a little so Harry could see his face in the dim light of the room, smiling in a wicked fashion before rising to his knees and starting to strip slowly, his silver-blue eyes never straying from Harry's green ones. Harry was left breathless as the pale chest was revealed, unmarred and exactly as he remembered it. The pale nipples stood up and tight, begging for attention Harry was desperate to give.

"I've been waiting so long… to feel you," Harry choked out, reaching out and touching the man's chest softly, fingers trailing almost ghost-like over the nipples and tangling in the few smoky, pale chest hairs the man had.

The man's tight-fitting shirt was thrown to the side and the man continued his strip-tease even as Harry's exploring hands touched and felt and fondled his flawless skin. It was just like it's supposed to be, and yet, something was missing.

Harry looked up, searching with his eyes the other pair of eyes that completed him, gave him courage. He met them after a few panicked seconds, sinking into the warm heat they were offering with their silver hues and touches of blue.

After shredding the little cloths he had on, the blond man looked up at Harry with questioning eyes. "Lube?" he asked softly, his voice barely a whisper.

Harry frowned in confusion, not understanding what the man was asking of him. He didn't have any lube on him, or anything.

Seeing the incomprehension in Harry's eyes, the man explained. "Can I use lube?"

Harry's eyes widened in horror; did the man think he was going to enter him without preparing him first? He could never in a million years hurt such a delicate, perfect body. Having realized he was gaping, Harry mentally shook himself and nodded weakly.

The man stretched his body over Harry's and pulled out a small bottle with a ripped-off label from a bedside table's drawer. Harry hadn't even noticed the small table in his rush to get the man naked and bare in front of him.

As the man prepared himself – Harry hasn't even offered, too fascinated by the man's hands disappearing behind his back to do anything but gawk – Harry took the time to compare the man's body to the one he knew and cherished. The arms were the same – lean, but muscular enough, showing off the glorious Quidditch past the man should have had. The neck, pale and delicate, if not a bit thicker than he remembered. The hair was more blond than silver and longer than he liked. The eyes were a stormy grey color, with a blue hue and a shiny gleam. The lips were thin and pale, much like the rest of him, but the bow was more defined. The chin was a bit too pointy, but he could deal. It wasn't such a difference he couldn't handle. It would do. It was enough.

He released a cry of pleasure as he was consumed entirely, his muscles tensing. "Oh, Merlin," he groaned. He changed their positions, flipping over so he was on top with the blond beneath him. The other man hitched his legs around Harry's waist and clutched the sheets under him as Harry thrust down into him over and over again, starting slowly, gently and then picking up a fast pace, thrusting hard into the tight heat.

He kept his eyes open all the while, looking at the familiar features, imagining a different situation. They were on a different bed, with cream-colored sheets and plush pillows. The room had bright walls with soft colors, and the dimmed light coming from the blazing fire warmed them in waves of heat. The blond trembling beneath him had his eyes clenched close at the pure pleasure Harry was pounding into him. Harry's heart was rattling with each movement, each stroke of heat and each wave of pleasure coursing through his body.

Feeling the orgasm building quickly, Harry quickened his pace, finding solace in the warm, familiar eyes and burying his fingers in the fair hair of the man. He gave a small smile, and received a hesitant, dazed one in return.

He bowed his head down and kissed the blond strands lovingly.

This whore, whoever he was, was _good_. Harry actually believed for a single second that this was the man he used to love, a long time ago, when dreams were achievable and acne was scarier than death.

Coming quietly, Harry held the man to him, embracing what seemed to be the last remains of his once-lover. Yes, it would do. It _was_ enough.

It had to be.


End file.
